


For a Price

by Bunnyhops



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7172606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnyhops/pseuds/Bunnyhops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had saved her life... for a price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For a Price

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

 

“It’s hot as Hades out here,” Flint commented, pulling a clean, white handkerchief from the pocket of his rather dirty denims and wiping across his brow. He was shirtless and his shoulders were beginning to redden from the sun. He looked at Goyle just as the large, muscular wizard passed the canteen of water to him.

“Aye,” Goyle agreed.

“Good to be out, though,” Flint added.

Goyle smiled. “That it is, mate. That it is.”

The sounds of construction surrounded them; hammers hammering: saws sawing, and foremen shouting; as well as the feminine laughter off to the left. They both turned to see Malfoy sitting under an umbrella, with two very pretty witches. 

“Ponce,” said Flint.

“Aye.”

It was three years since the war ended and three months since they’d been released from Azkaban’s successor, Recompense Island. It was Azkaban without the Dementors. The Ministry rid themselves of the soul-sucking wraiths, wiped the cells clean of the bodily fluids, and changed the name of the dreadful place in hopes of gaining public approval. The rebranding of the facilitiy worked for the most part, but the Ministry didn’t swap out the old guard with a new kinder gentler crew, thus continuing the routine torture applied to the prison population. It was not a pleasant two and half years that Gregory Goyle spent in prison, and he would do anything to make sure he didn’t go back. 

Flint, Malfoy and a few others were in the same boat; all released recently. 

Most of their fathers had perished with the end of the war, with the exception of Lucius Malfoy. Everyone was shocked to learn he had provided the Order with some much needed information, allowing them the upper hand at the final battle. That information saved him from death, but he still had to serve five years in Recompense.

Greg felt Flint turn and then the silence spread. 

“Well, isn’t she the prettiest thing I’ve seen in an age.”

With a sneaking suspicion, Greg’s eyes turned faster than his head to confirm who had caused the hesitation. Hermione Granger. A grown-up Hermione Granger. 

She smiled shyly at the attention and her eyes sought a familiar face. A second before her eyes met his, they darted over to the mocking voice of Draco Malfoy.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Princess of Gryffindor in all of her glory.”

Hermione swallowed, not knowing if she should hex him or say something scathing in response. However, before she could act, he surprised her with his next words and actions.

Walking gracefully to stand in front of her, he took her hands in his and teased, “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” 

Something in his eyes moved her. Tears burned at her eyes. She blinked them back and squeezed his hands. Smiling a moment later, she said, “Still so fair skinned. You’ll burn if you’re not careful.” Pulling back from him, she waved her wand and cast a protective charm over him, healing his already pink skin. 

“Still a know-it-all swot then, eh.”

Hermione giggled. “I suppose so.”

“Hermione?!” The tart, mildly shrill voice of Minerva McGonagall rang clear, startling some of the volunteers. 

“Hermione!”

Draco stepped aside and let Granger walk into the embrace of the elder witch. “Professor McGonagall! It’s lovely to see you. Thank you for asking me to help.”

“Oh, dear. I’m thrilled you could make it, but I’m no longer your professor, so please call me Minnie.”

Minerva pulled Hermione tight against her side and began walking and talking to the young witch. As Hermione passed Flint and Goyle, her eyes trailed back to Goyle’s. 

To Greg, as their eyes met, it was as if the planet had stopped turning. Every memory associated with her came flooding back to him.

**The Train  
Twelve year old Greg Goyle stepped on to the train after leaving his mother on the platform. She had a worried look about her, and even with her bruised cheek and cut lip, she was a pretty witch, though the hood covered most of her face. 

Natasha Goyle wasn’t worried for her son, she was actually quite happy he was leaving. She was glad he would be away from his father. The tall dark-haired woman glanced down the platform to where Gregory Goyle Sr. was standing, looking intimidating as usual. He didn’t sway or appear to be in any way intoxicated, but she knew he was drunk. Natasha sneered. He was a boor of a man; uncouth and cruel. 

“Mum?” It was her Greg. He’d called her softly to blow her a kiss. It was subtle and her face softened. With eyes only for him, she winked and mouthed, ‘I love you’. 

The train whistle blew, and parents and children alike were yelling their goodbyes. Everyone was excited and many mums were teary eyed, but not Natasha. She knew her boy would be alright. He was a survivor.

Greg smiled at his mum. He would miss her. His smile fell a moment later, when he went to slide shut the door, and heard, “’Tasha!” It was the deep resounding voice of his father.

Young Greg hoped his father hadn’t seen the mother-son exchange. The elder hated any kind of tender affections, and made it common practice to punish those around him who displayed anything but cold regard.

He couldn’t worry about that now; he stepped further onto the train and felt it move. That’s when the panic hit him. The crowds of new peers, ones he hadn’t grown up with, ones who would judge him for his size, ones who would think him stupid like his father did. Greg immediately pushed into the loo and splashed water onto his face. Looking into the mirror, he said to his round-faced reflection, “You can do this. They don’t know you and as long as you don’t speak, they won’t know how stupid you are.” Sighing and satisfied with his ‘pep’ talk to himself, he dried his face and nearly fell out of the small room and into a small girl. 

She gasped and hit the wall. “Oh!” she said.

Greg grabbed her arm. “I-I’m sor-“

The small girl interrupted him. “Oh, it’s alright. The train, it jerked a bit. Alright then?” she asked, placing a hand on his hand still holding onto her arm. She was smiling up at him.

He nodded and let go of her. 

“Okay,” she said and flounced down the narrow hallway. Her hair was the color of caramel; it was curly, almost bushy. It fell to her shoulders and moved as though it lived independently from her person. She had a pert nose with light freckles over her cheeks. 

Greg thought she was cute and had a nice smile. Her teeth were near perfect and Greg wondered if her mother had glamoured them for her.

“Oi, mate!” someone yelled from the down the way. Greg saw a shock of blond hair and an oaf behind that. Malfoy and Crabbe. He nodded and walked towards them. They were waving from a cabin and when he started walking, they popped back inside.

Not paying attention, he bumped right into another small body. Once again, he went to grab the unfortunate soul and realized it was the girl from before. 

She laughed and let him pull her up. “We must stop meeting like this,” she teased. “People will talk!”

Greg smiled, but didn’t say anything. It made her a bit uncomfortable, he could tell, but still he remained silent and watching. 

She shifted feet and then chirped, “Oh! A boy lost his toad. Have you seen it?”

Greg furrowed his brows. “What’s his name?” he asked.

“The toad?” 

“The boy.”

“Oh, Neville I think; and you are?” she asked, holding out her hand for him to shake.

Greg swallowed nervously and raised a beefy hand to softly hold her small one. “G-Gregory Goyle… er, Jr.”

Again the girl smiled and gave his hand an exaggerated shake. “I’m Hermione Granger.  
It’s nice to meet you, Gregory Goyle, Jr.”

“Goyle!” Draco again.

Greg murmured something and gave her a quick smile. He heard her stand there for a moment then pop into another cabin and restate her quest for the missing toad to the audience sitting in there.

Before they were sorted, Malfoy had introduced himself to Harry Potter on the steps of Hogwarts. Greg hadn’t paid attention to the scene in front of him, he’d just eyed the little, bushy-haired witch standing in between Potter and yet another Weasley. He still thought she was cute, even in her anger –and it was clear she was cross about something, it was written all over her face. Other than his mother, no one had shown him the least bit of warmth; even Malfoy and the others acted cold and aloof. Greg knew it was the way they were raised, the way that they all were raised, but he didn’t like it. Though, there was nothing he could do about it. 

Greg watched her the rest of the year. He was in awe of her enthusiasm for everything magical. She completely embraced the lessons, bordering on over-eager. Hermione Granger relished the wizarding world and all it encompassed. She was always first in raising her hand in class and usually gave more answer than required. He wished that he could be smart like that.

Malfoy was always annoyed by her, constantly complaining about her. Greg decided he liked her, but under the circumstances, he couldn’t befriend her or even hope to be befriended by her as she was now in the loop of Gryffindor goodness; completely submerged in the Harry Potter stardom.

“Mudblood!” Draco shouted at the young Gryffindor, who had embarrassed him once again. He felt just a twinge of guilt as her big brown eyes pooled with tears and her bottom lip quivered. Draco shifted his eyes to Marcus Flint and saw the large man tense; he was uncomfortable around crying witches too, especially if they were the reason the girl(s) were crying. He swallowed and a stiff apology was on the tip of his tongue, but Ron Weasley – the idiot- beat him to the punch. The young redhead pointed his wand at Draco and yelled, “Eat slugs!” It back-fired of course, the Weasel’s wand was broken.

The Slytherin Quidditch team watched with laughter bubbling just under the surface as Potter and Granger carried the ailing Weasley away, stopping every few moments as Ronald vomited up a slug.

Later that night, Greg Goyle came storming down to the dungeons with Vincent Crabbe hot on his heels. Greg slammed open the portrait door after hissing the password and stood in the entry like an avenging angel... a very large, very angry avenging angel. “Malfoy,” he called with a graveled voice.

Draco looked up and paled a bit. He bossed the two around, but he didn’t fool himself one bit about being able to best them physically. Draco stood and walked confidently to his friend. Greg stepped aside and let Draco pass.

The Slytherin Common room was filled with students, who were all silent and watching the scene unfold. Greg shut the door behind him. Not missing a beat, the large boy pulled Malfoy up by the scruff of his collared shirt and slammed him against the stone wall. “You called her a Mudblood, Git! Don’t do it again.

Before Greg could open the portrait, Draco regained his senses and said, “you like her.”

Greg stopped, still with his back to the blond not knowing how to respond. “I don’t not like her. She’s smart and… nice.”

Draco screwed up his face. “She’s a harpy!”

After a second, Greg laughed. “You like her too then, eh, mate?”

Draco snorted. “Well, I don’t hate her.” Greg smirked. Draco stopped. “I didn’t mean to make her cry, you know? She was right. Father did secure my position. I hate it when she’s right. Especially in front of Potty and that wanker, Weasley.”

Greg nodded. He understood; Weasley was a wanker.

**OoO  
They were walking in the snow, following the footprints made by the trio ahead of them. Draco turned to the lumbering boys behind him and placed a slender finger to his lips. They stopped after a few more yards. Granger was talking quietly to Weasley. 

Greg furrowed his brows and pursed his lips together. He really did not like the idea of the two of them together. His eyes scanned the snowy landscape, wondering where Potter was. 

Lost in his thoughts, while he watched the two, Draco rounded on them with a loud, scathing comment about the Weasel’s house. 

Granger turned and scowled at the three of them, though her face softened somewhat when they found Greg’s. 

He wondered, after Draco captured their attentions again, if he had imagined it.

The next few moments devolved quickly, sparking Greg’s ire and fear. An invisible force pulled down his trousers and began throwing snowballs. They ran up the hill and to the safety of their dorms. 

As Greg fell asleep that night, he closed his eyes to the sound of Hermione’s melodic laughter- even if it was at his expense.

Fourth year was awash with the Tri-Wizard tournament and Viktor Krum. Most of the boys at Hogwarts were fans and watched the man with a careful eye; how he walked confidently around the castle, when he practiced, how he handled himself around the witches. Viktor was everything that every young wizard wanted to be. Even the Bulgarian’s magic was strong, and though he didn’t speak much, they knew he was not a complete dunce. He was, after all, chosen as a champion. The champions had to be at the top of their games in all things – even academics.

At the Yule Ball, Greg watched, green with envy, as Viktor Krum escorted Hermione Granger. She looked beautiful. Greg’s eyes never left the couple as they danced and smiled at each other. Viktor made her laugh and Greg could see her nod her head at something that the Quidditch star said. Towards the end of the ball, Greg began to picture his face on the head of Viktor Krum’s body, dancing and holding Hermione. He must have been sitting like that, watching the two for some time before Malfoy pushed his shoulder roughly. 

“Oi! I’ve been calling you for ten minutes!”

Greg cleared his throat. “S-sorry, Malfoy.”

Draco nodded and looked out onto the dance floor. There were only a few couples still there: Longbottom and the Weasley girl, Roger Davies and a Hufflepuff. 

Greg’s eyes scanned the room. “Where’s Granger?”

Draco shrugged, but didn’t speak. 

Crabbe came from behind them and grabbed both of their shoulders. “The Mudblood’s crying about something and yelling at the Weasel!” He sounded excited and Greg wanted to punch him.

Draco’s eyes slid sideways to view Greg’s reaction to Crabbe’s declaration and name calling. 

Malfoy saw the boy tense and decided he wasn’t in the mood to watch the two have an all out row. “Father says we shouldn’t use that word in polite company; it’s classless.”

Crabbe snorted, but Draco knew he wouldn’t speak against Lucius. 

Greg was still tense and Draco addressed that as well. “Let’s go see what the idiot did this time. Should be entertaining watching Granger hex him.” 

The tension eased from Goyle’s shoulders and he stood. 

Making their way across the floor, Hermione was still yelling at Weasley, and Viktor was nowhere to be found.

Weasley was calling her mental and Potter wasn’t saying anything. 

Greg stepped forward only run into Draco’s arm. A shake of the pureblood’s head prevented Greg from following through with the redhead’s beating. Draco’s chin jutted forward. Krum was walking quite swiftly to Hermione’s side. He held two glasses in his hands and at the scene in front of him, he cast a spell floating the drinks to the table.

“Vat is matter, luff?” Viktor asked, though a stern glare was leveled at Ron.

Hermione clearly did not want to tell the intimidating wizard that Ron had just called him the enemy and accused her of betraying the good guys. 

Ron wasn’t speaking either, and Harry was shaking his head and looking longingly at the stairs that led to Gryffindor tower.

“It’s fine, Viktor,” Hermione responded, placing a small hand on the man’s forearm. It calmed him somewhat and his face softened as it looked down at her. 

As the moment passed, Hermione looked around and blushed at the crowd. 

Viktor grunted at the departing Weasley and hooked Hermione’s hand to the crook of his arm. “Moon ees vull, Hermo-ninny. A valk?” 

Hermione smiled and nodded her head. As they walked towards the door, the crowd parted for them, putting Greg, Draco and Vincent in the front just as the couple passed. 

“Hi, Greg. Malfoy,” Hermione acknowledged the two and ignored Crabbe. 

Draco nodded and stepped back from the audience. Greg was struck and couldn’t speak. 

She didn’t wait for a response. 

Greg later snuck out to follow the two with curiosity. He watched as Viktor kissed Hermione and how she returned his attentions with a demure shyness. The kisses between them were slow and languid. Greg thought it was a bit romantic, there under the old oak with a full moon and the giant squid splashing in the water.

***OoO  
The Inquisitorial Squad, which Dolores Umbridge founded, but didn’t leave them much choice but to join, was what brought him to the office with Potter, Weasley and Granger in tow. 

Greg vividly remembered that moment. It wasn’t because they were all annoyed at having to tolerate the Pink Tyrant, but because he had held Hermione in his arms, close to him. Yes, he had a wand pointed at her, but he wouldn’t have used it. 

“Greg, please. Why are you doing this? You can let us go,” she whispered to him.

Draco answered for him. “We can’t, Granger.” 

Hermione caught the edge in Malfoy’s voice and dared a look at him. Umbridge had threatened them.

After a few more minutes of bliss for Greg, Hermione shouted for Harry to tell them. The little witch then led Umbridge and Potter out, leaving them alone with Weasley.

Before she left, Hermione squeezed his hand and smirked at Malfoy.

Once gone, Weasley started squawking. 

Draco waved his wand and released him. “Go, Weasel. Go tell …someone.”

***OoO  
Sixth year they were all in Potions together and Hermione was studying even harder than she normally did. 

Hermione was growling and jumping and huffing in frustration. Her two sidekicks were alternating between watching her exercise in futility, shaking their heads, murmuring ‘mental’ and other derogatory remarks, and moaning in complaint at taking valuable time away from Quidditch.

Draco, Blaise and Greg were watching them watch her and shaking their heads at the ill-mannered sods. 

Before Blaise and Draco could stop him, Greg walked forward and pulled the book from its high shelf. He looked at the title and handed it to Hermione without a word.

Hermione offered a small smile. “Thank you.”

A curt nod ended the moment and Greg walked back to his friends. Hermione stood staring at the three walk away.

***OoO  
Greg walked and stumbled, making his way back to his father and certain death. That’s when he heard it; the soft mewl. Whatever it was, it was in pain. He walked slowly towards the sounds and almost fell in a hole. A small, raspy voice told him to stop. 

It was a close call. She was lying in a large hole; a trap, he thought. She was dirty and it looked like she was broken. Her nose was bleeding and her legs were at an odd angle. 

“Please, go, before someone finds you here,” Hermione pleaded and then coughed. 

Greg winced. It was a wet cough that reddened her lips with blood. She wouldn’t live the hour if he didn’t do something.

Taking a deep breath, he whispered, “Wingardium Leviosa.”

The spell made her sensitive skin tingle and she gasped in pain as it lifted her gently out of the hole where she had fallen.

Setting her as softly as he could on the ground, he quickly went to work, murmuring spells to heal her as best he could. These were spells he’d learned from his mother and which he had used on her after a drunken bout with his father.

Soon Hermione was breathing normally and was able to stand on her own, though, she would be in some pain for a few weeks… if she lived through this battle. 

Limping towards him, she couldn’t help but hug him fiercely. “I don’t know what to say. You saved my life.”

“A kiss,” he said softly, surprised at himself that he hadn’t stuttered.

She pulled back. “What?”

“You don’t have to say anything; all I want is a kiss.”

The sound she made was a mix between a hitch in her breath and a relieved sigh. Greg thought she would shout no and run away, but instead, she blinked, tilted her face up with parted lips and went up on her toes, bringing her face closer to his.

When he realized she was consenting, he closed the gap, planting his lips fully on hers. Sparks flew, toes curled, and sighs of pleasure came from the two. It was heaven. 

And just as quick as it started, it ended with Hermione moving her lips from his to having her forehead rest on his collar bone. Both were breathing hard. 

He didn’t know when he’d wrapped his arms around her small form, but they were there squeezing her closer. “Greg…”

“I know. Go. Be safe – stay alive.”

“You, too.”

With that, they parted ways. It was Greg’s first kiss.

Chapter 2.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Hermione sat outside on her small patio, looking out at her yard and the woods behind it. She loved her cottage in the country. Its location was perfect being just outside Surrey; she’d fallen in love with it as soon as she had seen it. 

Drinking her coffee, she put down the cup and inhaled. Today was the day she’d make her return. She’d been gone for five and a half years, and it’d been a little over two years since she’d last seen anyone with whom she had had any childhood ties.

The parchment ruffled in the breeze reminding her of the letter from Professor McGonagall. Hermione picked it up and read it once more. It was an invitation to a rebuilding event to benefit orphans.

Smiling, Hermione nodded in agreement and moved to stand. It was time to get ready and go face the world.

Her worn, faded, and very comfortable denims fit snugly around her hips and legs. The hole in the knee and thread-bare spot on the underside of her bum cheek confirmed the amount of time the jeans spent on her body. She threw on her trainers and pulled two ribbed tank tops over her head; pink on top of white. 

Looking in the mirror, she lost herself in the scar that ran from her temple to her chin. Hermione pondered the idea of wearing her hair down, covering the mark, but then shook her head. She’d received it during war, in the defense of a peer; she was proud of it and if the public, her public, couldn’t accept her with scars then they could just bugger off!

Smiling and squaring her shoulders at her reflection, she nodded and headed out the door.

OoO

Hermione was nervous as she walked the grounds of Hogwarts. She could hear in the distance the cacophony of noise associated with construction, but the portrait quality landscape in front of her was serene. It was one of large shade trees, lawns of the greenest grass, and the dark of the woods surrounding the lake that contained waters as black as ink even in the sunlight.

As she lifted her face to the sun, she longed to sit back under a tree and enjoy the warmth, but instead of acting on impulse, she shook her head and checked her watch. The time prompted her to pick up her pace. Hermione Granger was nothing if not prompt.

Her footfalls made a muted clomp sound as she walked the path to a clearing where the sun shone. The noise levels increased as she neared and the first things her eyes centered on was two muscled wizards, who stood shirtless, with tool belts slung low around their hips, drinking from a canteen of water. 

Historically, Hermione hadn’t been one to get all googly-eyed at the sight of an attractive wizard, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate the view they presented… and she did indeed appreciate the view.

Her eyes scanned the area for someone familiar before moving forward a bit. The noise ended and Hermione realized that the yet unidentified group of people staring at her were waiting for something.

Hermione’s eyes fluttered unintentionally to the two large wizards. She met the gaze of one of them and a flicker of recognition sparked her memory then left as the mocking voice of Draco Malfoy shattered her resolve.

Already anxious, she didn’t know whether to snap at him or laugh. His eyes were filled with emotion. Hermione noted that his eyes never once shifted to her scar, they only ever searched her eyes for answers. She caught her breath at the stormy, nearly pleading eyes, which she remembered to be conflicted and angry much of the time in school. His pale hands grasped and squeezed hers, and she was sure that his bottom lip trembled. It was his way of asking for forgiveness. She understood. She knew it must be very difficult for him. 

Everyone deserved a chance at redemption.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she nodded. Her eyes flitted around his face, noticing his slightly pink cheeks and just a hint of freckles. Smiling, she commented about his skin and cast a skin protection charm she’d developed during University. 

Draco smiled a broad, toothy grin that showed off his straight white teeth.

Their discourse continued for a moment later before they were interrupted by what Draco would later call the shrill cry of a Scottish marm.

The woman greeted Hermione with warmth and affection, ordering the young witch to call her Minnie. Hermione could see out of her periphery Draco mouth ‘Minnie’.

Hermione never lost consciousness of the fact that not only was the entire scene being watched by the participants, but her eyes darted back and forth between ‘Minnie’ and ‘the wizard’. As Minnie pressed Hermione close, recognition dawned and Hermione’s entire body jittered with an unexpected excitement. Her eyes snapped back to the wizard watching her; Gregory Goyle Jr., the boy, man, who had saved her life, then kissed her.

The rest of the hour was spent pasted to ‘Minnie’s’ side and touring the area. Hermione came here to work and this meandering was approaching tiresome.

She was drawn out of her frustrated musings by Minerva chuckling. “I know that look, Hermione. I’ll be under the umbrella – supervising – should you need me.”

Hermione smiled, nodded, and watched the elder witch walk away. Marching to the center of the half constructed building, Hermione looked up at the wizard atop one of the walls, who was shouting orders, and yelled at him, “Where can you use me?”  
He looked down at her with a quizzical expression then recognition hit. Fortunately, he handled being star struck with grace and answered, “How are you with levitation spells?”

The small witch gave a thumbs up sign and the foreman pointed at the large stones being carried from the ground beneath her. “I need them in the quarry, just beyond the tree line,” he shouted.

She nodded, walked over to a small stone, and lifted it. Hermione was methodical and used scientific measurement to gauge effort. They all watched her as she levitated the small stone, calculated the magical output, and set it back down. She went on to a slightly bigger stone and lifted that, and so on and so forth. It took her almost a half hour to work out the most efficient method of getting all those stones from inside the building to the quarry. Hermione was oblivious to the curious eyes watching her calculations.

The foreman was thrilled when she was able to lift several stones of varying sizes at once, walking them to the quarry.

McGonagall smiled. She adored the logical witch and was happy she was participating. The elder had worried that Hermione wouldn’t recover and rejoin society. Merlin knew, Harry was a lost cause, leaving magical society to hole himself up in the Amazon surrounded only by Muggle natives. 

Hours went by working and chatting with everyone there. Draco was in good spirits and she’d found herself laughing until she cried several times that day at his sense of humor. Hermione had assisted Marcus Flint with holding steady a large beam of wood while he sawed it into pieces. He’d asked her to dinner, then lunch, then breakfast. She’d agreed, of course, to lunch right as he began sawing another piece. In hind sight, she wondered if he had flexed his muscles more than necessary for her benefit Not that it had anything to do with her decision to see him at lunch… outside… in the heat, with him wearing very flattering denims and only a tool belt as an accessory. 

She hadn’t yet spoken to Greg Goyle. It seemed as though he was avoiding her. It was a bit annoying.

Early evening had come quickly enough and Hermione found her stomach rumbling as she hugged Minnie and smiled a goodbye at her ‘boss’. He blew her a kiss in response, making her giggle.

“Hermione!” It was Draco and he was jogging towards her, which made her smile because she remembered him as a fifth year telling a third year that Malfoy’s don’t rush.

He stopped in front of her wearing that adorable smile of his and stabbing his thumb over his shoulder to the wizards standing, waiting for him. “We’re feeling a bit peckish-“

Hermione’s rumbling stomach interrupted his sentence and he chuckled. “You as well then. Lack of food makes Flint a cross boy; won’t you join us for dinner and a drink?”

“Where to?”

“The Leaky. They still have the world’s best fish and chips.”

Hermione looked down at her dirty attire and was certain she didn’t smell like roses, but Draco waved her off. “It’s just dinner, Granger. Goyle won’t mind,” he teased with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Surprise flashed across her face and a blush rose in her cheeks. She’d been sneaking looks at Greg all day, but he’d always been busy. She’d met his eyes just once, but he’d turned quickly away.

“Okay.”

Draco smiled. “Okay?”

Hermione nodded. “Okay.”

An hour later found them laughing at a story Flint had told about how clumsy Blaise was in school. Blaise scowled, but didn’t object to the story. Hermione scanned the table and took a deep breath. Not in her wildest imagination would she have thought she’d ever be sitting at a table laughing with Blaise Zabini, Marcus Flint, Theo Nott, Draco Malfoy and Gregory Goyle.

Twice they’d had to quiet their conversation in order for Blaise to accept a witch’s address for a late night Floo-call. Hermione thought he was graceful about the way witches practically threw themselves at him. He’d just smile and say thank you then get back to whatever they were talking about. Marcus would then comment about how that never happens to him and that Zabini didn’t have anything he didn’t.

Another witch.

“That never happens to me, mate! You don’t have a thing I don’t,” Marcus slurred then pouted. “Isn’t tha’ right, ‘Ermi-yoney?”

Feeling a little dizzy herself, she raised her stein, signaling for another beer before she answered his question. Once refilled, she took a swig and set it down on the table rather loudly. Hermione looked up to find the men at her table smirking at her and …waiting. 

Right. He wants an answer.

“Blaise is –pretty.”

Marcus looked affronted. Draco chuckled and Theo coughed up the ale he sipped and had it dripping out of his nose. “Pretty? I’m not pretty?”

“Nope. You’re …masculine.” That statement had, of course, riled Blaise, satisfied Marcus and had the rest of them cackling like hyenas.

“What about me, Granger. Am I pretty?” Draco asked, giving her his best roman profile.

“Mmmm, handsome, I think.”

“And Theo?”

“Dashing, indeed,” she said with a sly smile.

Finally Goyle spoke, silencing the table and causing Hermione to stutter and blush. After a moment of hesitation, he figured she wouldn’t answer and took a drink. 

He knew he wasn’t attractive and that no witch of Hermione’s caliber would find him bearable.

Forgetting her environment for a moment, she uttered the first things that came to mind in regards to him. “I think you’re lovely.”

It caused both her and Goyle to blush with flattered embarrassment. Marcus broke the moment, ribbing them both. “I think this fine lager makes you sappy, Granger. It’s a bit unnerving.”

Hermione laughed and agreed. “I’d better go.”

She stood, swaying slightly. Draco caught her. She didn’t see him stand. Her head felt heavy as she reared back to look up at him. Soon her head dropped and her jaw dropped open. “When did you grow up?”

Draco smirked. “I’ve always been taller than you. I think you need an escort home, pet. It’s too bad I have a date. However, Goyle here is free.” He said this as he handed her off to the large wizard, making both Hermione and Greg stutter as Draco strutted away quite proud of himself.

Chapter 3. 

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

They stood awkwardly for a moment, watching helplessly while as their companions walked away, snickering to themselves. 

Greg was at a loss, torn between ripping Draco’s head off and kissing his feet. 

“Umm, should we walk?” Hermione finally asked after finding her voice and calming her racing heart.

Greg nodded and began to walk before halting abruptly and turning back to Hermione to offer his elbow. 

She smiled and held back a giggle, grasping his bicep. She silently marveled at the size and hardness of the muscle. Her face burned and she turned away, hoping he wouldn’t see her physical response to him.

He did, of course, notice and inhaled with pride, puffing out his chest a little. Definitely kissing Draco’s feet, he thought.

It was warm outside, the hot summer night was humid and Hermione was mildly concerned that she smelled like sweat and dirt and ale. Gregory smelled like a man, strong and hard working. Hermione liked that smell very much. Her mind even drifted a bit into the shadows of her mind where she kept secret a catalogue of sexual fantasy encounters. Until this point, they’d consisted of nameless wizards she’d seen abroad, but this – here and now – was real fodder for her rather curious mind.

“What are you thinking?” Greg asked her.

Hermione felt her face relax, which immediately told her that she had been wearing a strange expression. Swallowing and looking forward instead of at him, she mumbled something about the distance to her home. 

Greg pulled her to a stop on the ‘trail’ they were walking and looked down at her in a sheepish manner – like he was embarrassed. “I- I don’t hear so well in this ear.” He paused then continued, “It’s not that I’m not listening; I am, but maybe if you walked on this side,” he moved her hand to his other arm, “we could carry on a two-way conversation instead of you talking and thinking that I don’t want to talk… because I do, it’s just… ahhhh-“

“That you don’t hear very well in that ear,” she finished for him, with a soft smile.

“Right.”

“Has that always been the case?” she asked as they resumed their walk.

Greg shook his head. “No.” It was a short answer and he realized that he should elaborate, but he didn’t want to remind her of the war. 

Hermione nodded and frowned. “What happened?”

He looked down at her and saw curiosity and compassion. There was no judgment evident in her face. “When I first arrived in Azkaban, the guards used me as an example for the rest of the …new residents.”

Hermione smirked at his phrasing – new residents indeed, but then got angry. “You were a child-“

“I was old enough to make decisions, Hermione.”

“You made the decision to save my life! That should have counted for something.”

“For a price; and one right doesn’t counter all the wrongs.”

A quiet descended, but Hermione broke it a moment later with a squeeze to his arm. “I was happy to pay the price.”

He wasn’t sure how to take that. Did she feel it a small price to pay for saving her life? Did she like the kiss? Would she do it again?

Just then she stumbled, but didn’t fall. Greg had caught her and pulled her into him without really putting any thought into how close it would bring her. A second went by with them looking deeply into each other’s eyes, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist and her hands firmly gripping his shoulders. The soft rise and fall of her chest pressed her breasts against his sternum. 

“You saved my life again,” she whispered.

A slow grin brightened his serious countenance. “For a price,” he replied.

Rising to her toes, she lifted her face to his. The feeling of his lips on hers was explosive, electrifying every nerve end in her body: fingers, toes…

The kiss deepened and as his tongue slid sensually against hers, he groaned and squeezed her tighter, lifting her. Their kiss transitioned from languid and new to frenzied and passionate. She wanted this man, had wanted this man for years. 

In the middle of squeezing his shoulders and pulling him closer, she felt a rough and hard surface to her back, scraping her sensitive skin. She pulled away to look at her surroundings. Greg was breathing hard and had picked her up so that her legs were now wrapped around his hips and her back against a tree; the trail they’d been on was nowhere to be seen. 

He hadn’t stopped moving against her, he had just slowed and was now looking at her like he expected her to realize who she was with and bolt.

Tightening her legs around him, she beckoned. “Gregory,” she whispered.

Greg reacted immediately, pressing himself more assertively against her. “I’ve dreamt of you; when I was asleep, when I was awake. You. Your face, your hands, the way you looked on that day. I wanted to say sorry… for everything, for everyone. I wanted to hurt whoever hurt you. I wanted to keep you. It was selfish; am selfish, but Circe – I want to be in you. I want you to be mine.” He spoke softly, but urgently to her, whispering in her ear while his hips pumped back and forth, teasing her. She was going to come, and couldn’t spread her legs far enough apart. She needed more – harder, more consistent. 

His fingers walked under her shirt, up her side – nearly tickling her – and inside of her bra. Tentative fingertips circled her nipple then gently tweaked. Hermione arched her back. “Yes,” she sighed.

“I don’t deserve you, Hermione. I know that. I- mmmphhhhf,” he said. 

He was going to say more, she was sure of it, but she cut him off with her mouth over his. She hadn’t realized he had become so chatty.

The intensity of the kiss caused fireworks to go off in her brain one after the other. She felt a deep connection with him and by the speech he had just given, he felt it too. 

Making every effort to focus on a destination, she Apparated them both to her bedroom.  
It wasn’t the most graceful of arrivals. Upon materializing in the feminine room, Greg dropped her and ran to the loo after giving her a panicked look and her pointing in the general direction. 

Side-alongs were never a pleasant experience, but she’d hoped that their lustful state would prevent the inevitable; she had thought wrong.

Greg returned with a sour expression that bordered on irritation, but one smile from her and a quick apology – naked – drained all negative emotion from his person.

Another quick spell, without his consent, had him smacking his lips together. “Did you do that?” he asked.

She nodded. “We’re kissing and you just… you know, so I just thought-“

“Breath freshening spell?”

Smiling again and stepping closer, once again had him forgetting whatever it was he was trying to remember.

All Greg could focus on was the way her breasts swayed with her movement. The small peaked nipples the color of pink roses pebbled even tighter under his gaze. Her skin was pale, with scars from battle gleaning white in the moonlight and smooth against her body. She had an hourglass figure, with a small waist and rounded hips. His perusal stopped between her legs. She was bare. Her lips were swollen with need and he could just see the dusky, glistening muscle peeping from between her lips.

Feeling bold, Greg moved forward and placed his hand between her legs making her gasp in surprise and pleasure. Their bodies weren’t touching anywhere else. He stroked her softly, slowly inserting two fingers inside of her. She was wet and warm. He pressed the palm of his hand on her clit, pulsing. His eyes never left her face as he increased his speed and pressure. “Come. Right now. Please, I need to see you come.” His voice was pleading and sharp.  
Hermione had to hold onto his biceps as she fell apart, sighing and tensing. 

Gregory had not stopping his ministrations, still pumping slowly, she came back to earth, blinking at him. 

He pulled his fingers free and held them to his nose. Taking a deep breath, he smelled her essence. It was rapture. 

Hermione watched in awe as he moved them from under his nose and into his mouth, sucking hungrily on the juices she’d marked him with.

Not wanting to wait a moment longer, Hermione cast a spell that removed the clothes from Gregory’s body quite efficiently. His eyes widened a bit in surprise, but all he said was, “Witch!”

Normally, Hermione was pensive, logical, and her actions measured, but this was not ‘normal Hermione’. This was lustful, emotional, impulsive Hermione. 

She grasped his proud erection with her small hand and mewled in pleasure when her hand didn’t fit around the base. She had experimented enough to know that he would stretch her beautifully.  
When she finally tore her eyes away from his cock, she took in his tense posture, fisted hands and shallow breathing. Smiling devilishly, she tugged gently as she walked backward to her bed. He had no choice but to follow.

Hermione drank in every muscle, each toned limb, his spattering of chest hair and the dark trail that led to the thatch between his legs. Her hand was massaging and pulling and turning. She effectively switched positions with him, enabling herself to push him onto her bed. 

Greg hadn’t spoken a word, loving that she had taken control and praying that she wouldn’t stop.

Once seated, she nudged him further to lie back as she climbed on top of him and straddled his waist. 

Greg opened his mouth to tell her how beautiful she looked, but she placed a small finger over his lips silencing him. “Shhhh,” she admonished then sank down, slowly impaling herself.  
Eyes rolled back into heads, sighs and moans and growls of heavenly euphoria filtered through the room as she began to ride him.

He touched every exposed piece of flesh on her body, beginning with her breasts, nipples, shoulders, lips, waist, hips, thighs and back up to her hips, where he gripped tightly and slowed her movement. 

She harrumphed and pinned his arms above his head and told him to keep them there. Smiling and grimacing at the same time, he wanted their time together to last, but she was not having any of it. 

It was difficult for him. He remembered Malfoy had told him that he thought of Quidditch statistics and so Greg tried that, but the way Hermione’s body felt against his – she had lowered her torso and they were now chest to chest with her hair surrounding them – and the way that he felt so snug inside of her, like he belonged there, like she was made for him, he couldn’t focus enough and soon felt the tingling in his spine and the tightening of his sac. 

Luckily, as he grunted her name and looked at her nearly begging for her forgiveness, she picked up the pace and nodded several times; she was going to come, too.

Hermione cried out his name and he tensed so ardently that the cords in his neck popped and he clenched his teeth. He vaguely felt her weight fall on his chest afterwards. It was, in his mind, natural to pull her into him and hold her close.

***  
Panting together and recovering, she intertwined their fingers. 

“Thank you, Hermione.”

She turned slightly to see his face. “For what?”

Greg swallowed. He really didn’t want to tell her. “For what?” she repeated, now fully turned to face him.

“I-I- For being my first.”

Shocked, she stuttered her response. “But you… You- you… it was … you lasted!”

Greg chuckled. “Books.. and Malfoy.”

Hermione made a face, crinkling her nose. “Malfoy?”

“Quidditch statistics, but I couldn’t do it. You’re much more exciting.”

“You read books about sex?” she asked not wanting to draw out the discussion between Greg and Malfoy about Quidditch stats.

He nodded. Hoping she wasn’t offended. Relief flooded through him a moment later when she gave him her brightest smile. “You may have heard; I love books. Perhaps you will read to me someday?”

Logic faded when he felt his cock twitch in response to her request. Nodding, he rolled them over and slid into her. It was not slow nor fast, but it was steady. He made her scream twice before he came again.

They were once again recovering under the covers of her comforter. “I don’t want to leave,” she said.

“It’s your house,” Greg responded, making her laugh. 

“I mean-“

“I know what you mean. I don’t want you to leave either.”

“Then let’s not,” she said.

It was a strange conversation and a very sudden agreement. They would stay together.  
***  
“Marry me,” he said one day. 

“Okay.”  
***  
“Uncle Marcus! Pick me up! Pick me up!” said Jasper Goyle.

“I can’t you’re getting too big.” Marcus Flint looked up to see his best friend’s wife amble down the stairs. “So is your mummy,” he teased.

“You’re treading on thin ice, Flint,” Draco warned of a pregnant Hermione Granger-Goyle.  
***  
“Mum?”

“I’m here, dear. Which house?” responded the ashy representation of Jasper’s mother.

“Melania’s in Ravenclaw. At least she’s not a Hufflepuff,” said the Gryffindor.

Hermione looked at her husband and smiled. Well, yes, there was that.


End file.
